When I was alive,

I believed — as you do —

that time was at least as real and solid as myself,

and probably more so.

I said 'one o'clock'

as though I could see it,

and 'Monday'

as though I could find it on the map;

and I let myself be hurried along

from minute to minute,

day to day, year to year,

as though I were actually moving from one place to another.

Like everyone else,

I lived in a house

bricked up with seconds and minutes,

weekends and New Year's Days,

and I never went outside until I died,

because there was no other door.

Now I know that

I could have walked through the walls.

... You can strike your own time,

and start the count anywhere.

When you understand that —

then any time at all will be the right time for you.

— Peter S. Beagle,

              The Last Unicorn